Pawn
by this-little-light-o-mine
Summary: The Wizarding World of Great Britain has survived its first war against He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named. However, for Auror Arthur Kirkland, the trouble only just begins when true love rears its ugly head and secrets become death wishes. Pottertalia AU for FrUK; includes cursing.
1. Year One

**September 1, 1974**

_'Ready, set, GO!'_

Arthur breaks into a run, pushing his trolley as hard as he could. Just inches in front of him is a red brick wall, as sturdy and strong as the rest of the train station.

According to the Muggles, of course.

Arthur rushes into the pillar, but doesn't stop. He isn't met with the concrete floor, however; nor is Arthur bruised and dazed. No, instead his body and trolley passes through the brickwork as if it is made of air.

Upon passing through, Arthur skids to a halt before veering off to the left, out of the way of passersby. A few feet above his head is a sign reading, _"Platform 9 ¾ Hogwarts Express."_ All around him, families pushing trolleys are preparing to board the train. For the past four years, Arthur had watched jealously as Alisdair and Patrick climbed aboard the train to Hogwarts. But this year, he and Daffyd would be joining them- _finally._

"Oi, Artie! Let's go!"

Arthur stops his musing and looks up to see his twin brother, Daffyd. His green eyes shine excitedly and his long, wavy, dirty-blonde hair has worked its way out of its ponytail.

"Al and Pat are already puttin' their stuff up!"

Daffyd leads Arthur to where the edge of the platform and the side of the train meet and workmen are busily stowing away the trunks (except for the pets; they have to stay with their owners). Alisdair and Patrick are waiting there for them, and help put away Daffyd's and Arthur's stuff.

Alisdair and Pat have fiery red hair, inherited from their mother. Alisdair's hair is messy like Arthur's, while Patrick's hair is tidy and curly. He and Daffyd both have freckles sprinkled along their cheeks. All three brothers shared thick brows and bright green eyes.

Cradling his black cat's cage in his arms, Arthur follows his older brothers aboard the Hogwarts Express. Alisdair stops at a cabin to his right and opens the door for his two youngest brothers while Patrick went off to find his own friends.

"We're sitting here! I want you two to stay with me until I join the other Prefects, okay?" Alistair says as he slides the door closed behind them.

The three brothers sit across from Alisdair's friends, who he introduces to Daffyd and Arthur. One of them, Nathan, also introduces his little brother who is in the same year as Arthur and Daffyd. He has short, brown hair that is combed neatly out of his face and blue eyes that are eerily pale.

"Hi, my name's Gawain Robards!" He says, grinning friendly at them.

"Arthur Kirkland. And this is my brother, Daffyd." Arthur introduces, immediately liking the lad. "This is your first year, too, right?"

Gawain nods his head ecstatically. "Mm-hmm! I can't wait to get to Hogwarts! I wonder what House I'll be put in though. Hopefully Gryffindor!"

"Me too," replies Daffyd. "But I wonder _how_ we'll be sorted."

The three First Years turn to look up at the Fifth Years, who are chattering to each other.

"Hey Al," Arthur tugs on Alisdair's sleeves. Alisdair raises an eyebrow inquiringly at Arthur.

"Aye?"

"How do we get put in the Houses we want to be in?"

Immediately, Alisdair and his friends exchange feral grins. They all turn to focus on the First Years. Arthur, Daffyd, and Gawain glance nervously to one another.

"Well, it's not that hard- as long as you've studied!" One of older boys says.

"That's only if you want to get in Ravenclaw," a dark-haired boy puts in. "It all depends on which House you want to get into."

"Yeah," Alisdair says. "For Gryffindor, though, you have to pass a test of bravery!"

"The three little boys gulp nervously. "Like what?" Gawain whispers.

"Oh, it's always different," drawls a Fifth Year. "For us, we had to fight a dragon. Last year, the First Years had to camp out in the Forbidden Forest- _at night._ But who knows what you guys will get? Maybe steal Filch's cat, or maybe clean the dungeons."

"Clean the dungeons?" Daffyd frowns and furrows his brows. "Why?"

"Oh, you know." Nathan rolls his eyes. "That's where they punish the kids for misbehaving. Usually they'd chain you to the wall, but if you're really bad…" He trails off, leaving a suspenseful silence among the students.

"I don't believe you." Arthur objects. "You're just trying to scare us!"

Alisdair opens his mouth to speak, but the loud, high-pitched whistling of the train interrupts him. The Kirkland boys quickly jump into their seat, while some of the others wave goodbye to their parents. Arthur wonders what it'd be like to have their mum blowing last-minute kisses or father giving words of encouragement like the other students.

As if reading his mind, Alisdair drapes an arm over his shoulders. "Don't worry, lad. Your big brothers are here right? We're all ye need."

Arthur grins, happy once more. "I know!" He leans deeper into Alisdair's semi-hug, grateful for his presence.

After a few more minutes of arguing with the Fifth Years, the older boys finally admit defeat. Someone knocks on the door, grabbing their attention.

"It's open!" Nathan shouts, in the middle of a game of Gobstones.

A young boy with long, wavy, light blonde hair enters the cabin. He has bright blue eyes and looks to be the same age as Arthur, even though being several inches taller.

"Hello," he greets shyly, in a thick French accent. "I was wondering if there is any room. There seems to be none left."

"There's plenty," answers Alisdair. "And I take it you're in the First Year, aye?"

"Oui- I mean yes!"

"Great! So is Arthur, Daffyd, and Gawain!"

The French boy closes the door behind him and takes a seat beside Arthur. "I'm Françoise Bonnefoy, but just call me Francis." He sticks his hand out at Arthur to shake it. "You are Arzur, right?"

"Ar_thur_," he corrects. "But yes."

The boy sneers at Arthur and lowers his hand. "Well, _Arthur,_ why are there caterpillars in the place of your eyebrows?"

Arthur's hand immediately flies up to touch his forehead before dropping it back down in a clenched fist. "Want to repeat that, _Frog?"_

"What? Do you have caterpillars in your ears as-?"

Francis doesn't even finish his sentence before Arthur flings himself at him. Pinning him to the ground by his shirt, Arthur raises a fist to strike Francis in the jaw, but a pair of arms drags him off of him by the waist.

"Let me go!" Arthur shouts, squirming in Alisdair's grip.

"Like hell-!"

This time, it is Francis' turn to jump on Arthur, causing Alisdair to drop him. Just as his back hits the floor, Francis punches him in the nose. Arthur then grabs a fistful of the French boy's hair and tugs- _hard._ Francis cries out something in French, probably swear words. Arthur takes this opportunity to slam his fist in his opponent's jaw.

But much to the boys' disappointment, they are _both_ dragged apart, ceasing their fight. Arthur tries to wriggle out of his brother's embrace. However, no such luck for him. Same goes for Francis, who is in Nathan's grip.

"We haven't even reached the school," Alisdair breathes into his ear, "and you're already starting fights, ye bad, _bad_ boy." Arthur stops moving as Alisdair sits him on the bench, glowering at him. He crouches in front of Arthur so that they're seeing eye-to-eye.

"He," begins to protest, but Alisdair glares at him.

"No one word, lad! I don't want to hear a single excuse about who started it, ye hear?"

Arthur nods, head bowed.

"Now go apologize."

Arthur snaps his head up to look at Alisdair, eyes wide. He was not- _never, ever_ –going to apologize to _Francis._

"No way!"

_"Arthur Edgar Kirkland,"_ Alisdair hisses, shaking an accusing finger at him, _"you go and-!"_

"I AM NOT APOLOGIZING TO ZHAT MONSTROSITY-BROWED CRETIN!"

Alisdair immediately whips around to see Nathan scolding Francis- which is just as fruitless as Alisdair's and Arthur's conversation. Arthur takes this opportunity to jump down from where he's seated and slip past Alisdair.

"Hey! Where do you think you're going?" Alisdair yells after Arthur, who dashes to the exit.

"I'm going to look for Patrick!" Arthur shouts over his shoulder. As he passes by Nathan and Francis, he sticks his tongue at the French boy, who glowers in return.

Stepping into the hall, Arthur slams the door shut. He heads down the hallway, yet before he can even begin walking, a voice stops him in his tracks.

"Hey kid, what was with all the noise?"

Arthur turns around to see a boy, a few years older than him. He wore glasses over hazel eyes and has a tousled mop of black hair. Behind him are three other boys his age.

"Nothing," Arthur mutters and is about to continue on his way, but the dark haired boy again stops him.

"Hold on, you're hurt." The boy squats in front of him and squints at him studiously. "That's one ugly bruise you got. Were you in a fight or something?"

Hesitantly, Arthur nods. The boy smiles sympathetically.

"So you hit him right back, right?"

Arthur nods again, less shy than before. The boy laughs and pats him on the back, taking him by surprise.

One of the boys behind the boy walks up to Arthur's side. "Awesome! Where'd you hit him?" he inquires.

"His mouth," Arthur replies, feeling better than before. However, before he could mention pulling Francis' hair as well, an enraged yell comes from down the hallway.

"James Potter, you better not be bullying a First Year, you conceited-"

"Relax, Evans!" The first boy, James, jumps to his feet and faces the girl. She has long red hair and emerald green eyes. "You know I don't pick on First Years- just slimy Slytherins!"

"Evans" gazes down at Arthur and gasps. "You poor boy! What happened?"

"He just had a little scuffle, Lily," the boy beside Arthur says. He reaches out and ruffles Arthur's hair, much to the First Year's annoyance.

The girl- "Lily" -ignores him, however, and kneels in front of Arthur, pushing James out of the way. "Hold on," she raises her wand, "I'm going to fix it a bit, okay? It won't hurt at all. Just stay still, or else I might poke you in the eye."

Lily mutters a spell and Arthur grits his teeth as a sharp pang, like that of a hot wire, shoots up his nose, but it was over before he knew it.

"See? That wasn't so bad, was it?" Lily smiles.

"No. And thanks," Arthur says. "Oh, and, uh, I'm Arthur."

"Hello, Arthur. I'm Lilly, but you already know that, I'm guessing."

"And I'm," interrupts James, "James Potter, Chaser extraordinaire!"

"I'm Sirius," the other boy adds, grinning like that of a dog baring its teeth. "This is Remus," he gestures at one of the two boys behind him and James. Remus has thick, brown hair and green eyes. "And this is Peter." The last boy smiles friendly at Arthur and waves. He has short, mousy brown hair and blue eyes and was rather small and chubby for his age.

"So, Arthur," James says, "do you want to sit with us? We have a cabin all to ourselves."

"No thank you," Arthur starts, falls silent when the cabin door opens and Francis steps out. As soon as they lay eyes on one another, Arthur and Francis are about to lunge at one another, but Sirius and James hold them back.

"Not so fast, hotshot!" Sirius says, laughing as he grips Arthur by the shoulders. "No need to make Evans work even more."

Arthur stops struggling against Sirius, but glares at Francis, who is adorning a blue bruise on the corner of his mouth. _'Serves him right,'_ Arthur thinks, smirking. He then shrugs Sirius off and turns to leave, suddenly reminded of his original goal.

"Whatever," Arthur says, walking briskly down the hall. "I'm going to go sit with my brother."

When Arthur reaches Patrick's cabin, he feels Francis' gaze on him. He ignores him, however. The four boys and Lilly had already left for their own cabins, as well. Arthur knocks on the door.

"Come in!" A boy's voice calls from the other side.

Arthur quickly enters the cabin. Inside, he sees Patrick talking eagerly with his group of friends about something; Quidditch, Arthur guesses.

"Hey Artie," Patrick says, smiling. "I thought you're sitting with Al and Duff?"

Arthur shook his head. "I don't want to. I want to sit with you!"

Patrick scoots over in response and pats the spot beside him. Arthur sits beside him and Patrick hands him a chocolate frog. As the Third Years chat, Arthur begins to lose any focus on their conversation and nods off, his head and eye lids heavy.

"We won't be arriving at Hogwarts until after nightfall," he hears Patrick murmur. "Get some rest while you can. I'll wake you up when it's time to get dressed."

Arthur complies and lies down, his head in Patrick's lap. Yes, his big brothers were all he needed.

"Three to a boat!" instructs a very large man bearing a long, shaggy mane of black hair. He has a very loud voice, but still retains the voice of someone who enjoys being around children. "No need to be shy! There's plenty of room for everyone!"

Upon arriving at Hogwarts, Arthur and the rest of the First Years were rounded up by this man as their stuff was taken to the school. Introducing himself as Rubes Hagrid, he led them down a shady path to a fleet of boats- each supplied with a lantern on the bow -on the edge of a huge lake, called the Black Lake, according him. Arthur, Daffyd, and Gawain, occupy their own boat which launches itself from the shore. Hagrid takes up one entire vessel, Gawain points out with a snicker, which sinks a few inches under his weight.

The trip across the lake turns out to be but a few minutes long. Up close, the school is far bigger than in pictures, Patrick's and Alisdair's stories, and even from across the Black Lake. In awe, the students are brought inside the building to a room. In front of them, is a small staircase leading to another pair of doors, where they could hear many people- probably students- chattering merrily. Standing on the top step, is a middle-aged witch, adorning an elegant black cloak and hat with her hair wrapped in a bun. Her green eyes sweep over the new students before she addresses them.

"Welcome, First Years, to Hogwarts, School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. I am Professor McGonagall, the transfiguration teacher. Behind these doors is the Great Hall, where you will be sorted into your chosen House. Please line up in a double line before we enter. When I call your name- it will be last name first -come to the front and take a seat on the stool." She pauses to breathe before taking a brief look through the doors. "Everybody ready? Let's go."

As she turns around, the First Years quickly form into two lines alongside one another as told. Gawain and Daffyd partner together and Arthur positions himself behind his brother. Glancing to his left, he finds to his horror that Francis is beside him, who only then notices him as well.

"Eyebrows," Francis grumbles under his breath, turning to face straight ahead as the doors open.

"Frog," counters Arthur, in much the same attitude.

The doors swing open and the First Years, following after the professor, step through. On both sides of them are two long tables (making four in total) and occupying the benches are the other students. In the front is another long table, this time for the staff, Arthur guesses, and in the very middle is an elderly-looking man with a long beard and spectacles seated in a throne-like chair. _'That must be Headmaster Dumbledore! He looks just like in the Chocolate Frog Cards!'_

Looking up though, Arthur's breath is taken away. The ceiling is replaced by the night sky and candles floated among the stars. When Daffyd comes to a sudden stop, Arthur skids to a halt, nearly bumping into him.

McGonagall steps up to the front of the Great Hall, right beside a podium carved with an owl, and holding a battered old hat that had been previously placed on the stool. Unrolling a scroll, she begins calling up the names of the First years.

"Bonnefoy, Françoise," McGonagall announces.

Francis immediately straightens and strides up to the stool where he takes a seat. McGonagall places the hat upon his head. After a few seconds of silence, to Arthur's and the other First Year's amazement, the hat begins to _move._ The creases in the leather hat model a face, as if it was thinking.

"SLYTHERIN," the hat bellows and the students seated at the far right table leap to their feet in a cacophony of clapping and cheers.

McGonagall continues down the list until she finally reaches the K's.

"Kirkland, Arthur Edgard."

Arthur, feeling his hands suddenly sweaty, shuffles forward and walks quickly to the stool before taking a seat. Like the other students before him, the hat is donned on his head. It's heavier than it appears and smells rather peculiar, Arthur thinks.

_**'Another Kirkland?'**_ A deep voice insinuates in Arthur's ear. _**'Should I place you in Gryffindor like your brothers? Or maybe Ravenclaw like your mum? But there is an inextinguishable fire in you, no doubt. And then there is that unquenchable thirst for knowledge. However, your loyalty lies with family, which only means…'**_

"GRYFFINDOR!"

The said house rise to their feet, in full celebratory manner. Once the hat is lifted from Arthur's crown, he rushes to the long table to join his brothers. Alisdair warps an arm around his shoulders and Patrick ruffles his hair. They then quickly turn to listen for Daffyd's name, which is undoubtedly next.

"Kirkland, Daffyd Carwyn," reads McGonagall.

Daffyd strides up to the stool and seat himself proudly on the wooden stool. Unlike Arthur had, he appears completely composed and calm. Anticipation hung in the air, like it had for every First Year before them and for the ones to come.

"GRYFFINDOR!"

Arthur and his brothers spring to their feet, clapping loudly and hooting out hurrahs. Daffyd, chest puffed out and heat tilted high in the air, quickly joins them. Taking a seat beside Arthur, Daffyd gives him an excited grin.

A few names later, and it is Gawain's turn.

"Robards, Gawain Walter."

Gawain quickly ambles to the front and sits on the stool. However, no sooner did the Sorting Hat touch his head, it roared out "GRYFFINDOR!" Gawain leaves the front in a flourish and sits across from Arthur, beside Nathan.

After the Sorting ends, Headmaster Dumbledore stands up from where is seated as Professor McGonagall takes a seat.

"To our newest addition of students, welcome to Hogwarts. And for those returning, welcome to a new year at Hogwarts!" Dumbledore spreads his arms out and foods of all kinds materialize before Arthur's eyes. "Enjoy."

_Click!_

Arthur unlocks Nimue's cage and the door opens with a whine. The black cat slinks out, her amber eyes regarding the dormitory cautiously. Finding the new surroundings suitable, Nimue clambers into Arthur's lap, her bony body curling into his abdomen. Laying her head comfortable on her paws, she glances expectantly at Arthur. In response, he scratches her gently under her chin. Purring loudly, she rubs her cheek against Arthur's thumb.

"Good night, Nimue," Arthur murmurs after a few minutes of reading and cat-petting, and she leaps off of his lap. As Arthur lies down to sleep, Nimue snuggles beside his head on the pillow. **September 2, 1974**

"Er, I think it's this way."

Arthur groans in exasperation as Daffyd "leads" Gawain and him down the hallway. Wonderful, they were running horribly late to their very first class. The bell would ring any second now, marking the end of passing period. But really, _where _is that Charms' classroom?

"Lost, Eyebrows?"

Arthur and his friends whip around to see, just as they suspected, none other than Francis Bonnefoy. He smirks at them from the top of the stairs, leaning casually against the railing. It's only then does Arthur notice they're the only students in the halls.

"And if I am?"

"Then good; allow me to join you." Francis gives a sheepish grin and Arthur blanches.

"What?"

"Are English schools usually this confusing? I'm looking for the Charms' class…" Francis trails off, staring at the trio for an answer.

"No," replies Gawain slowly. Looks like Arthur isn't the only one surprised by Bonnefoy. "Well, not many schools are castles, so what did you expect?"

Francis shrugs and saunters up to the three of them, but Arthur abruptly holds up his hand, stopping him.

"Sorry, _Frog,_ but we don't like associating ourselves with _Slytherins,"_ he spits out the last word, disgust in his voice.

"Come on, Arthur," Daffyd hisses in his ear, "not another fight!"

Arthur waves his hand dismissively at his brother, much to the latter's annoyance.

"Your oldest brother is a Prefect, oui?"

The question takes Arthur and Daffyd by surprise. However, they nod in response.

"Then it would be bad _réputation _if his little brothers are late to their first class, wouldn't it, _Eyebrows?"_ Francis smirks.

Arthur growls under his breath, blenching and unclenching his hands. Finally he sidesteps, and gestures to the front. "Lead the way, Frog- _since you insist."_

Daffyd and Gawain step out of the way as Francis passes them, smug with his latest victory. As he turns the corner, with the three Gryffindors following behind, Gawain speaks aloud.

"I thought you were lost, Bonnefoy."

Arthur and Gawain share a smirk, and Daffyd moans mentally. However, the smug look on the French boy's face doesn't cease. Instead, he sneers over his shoulder.

"I said that the school is _confusing,_ Robards," Francis rolls the "R"'s in Gawain's name. "But that didn't mean _I_ am confused. After all, we Slytherins are rather… _witty."_

And much to Arthur's chagrin, Francis _did_ seem to know his way. For just seconds before the bell rang, they were seated with their fellow classmates in the Charms' classroom. Across from the classroom, Arthur can tell that the Frog was still smirking.

_'I'll wipe that grin off his smug mug!'_ Arthur fumes. Oh, Bonnefoy will pay, all right.

Arthur groans when Francis strolls into the Transfiguration classroom. For all his previous subjects, the Slytherin has been in _every single class._ Merlin's beard, it seems their timetables are identical!

And to make things worse for the Brit, Daffyd and Gawain were only in half of his classes, Transfiguration _not _included.

_"Donc, nous nous reverrons!"_ Francis crows, when he sees Arthur.

_"Not. Another. Word."_ Arthur seethes, although he doesn't actually understand a single phrase Francis just spouted. However, he has a pretty good idea.

"Détends-toi, Anglais! Lighten up!" Bonnefoy grins and laughs _("Ohohohon!")_ in that so very, _very_ annoying chortle of his.

"No thank you," Arthur growls. "I'd rather _not."_

"Is it because of those hideous eyebrows, Ar_zur?_ I would too, if I were-!"

Arthur tackles Francis to the ground, livid and driven mad with rage. His fist connects with his enemy's nose with a satisfying squelch, but the French boy manages to box Arthur's right ear. Arthur quickly brings his knee down onto Bonnefoy's stomach. With Francis winded, Arthur clouts him in the jaw. However, Francis is able to come to his senses, and using his size against the Gryffindor, wraps his legs around Arthur's waist and pushes himself on top. He aims a punch to the surprised English lad, but Francis' knuckles barely graze Arthur's cheek.

Francis feels a strong tug and is dragged off of Arthur, who in turn, is held back by someone else. Looking up, Francis found himself face-to-face with a not very amused Professor McGonagall. As for Arthur, unfortunately, Patrick _and_ Alisdair had been passing by the classroom on their way to Quidditch practice when they heard the two First Years fighting.

_'Shite.'_

_I will not fight with Francis Bonnefoy. I will not fight with Francis Bonnefoy. I will not fight with Francis Bonnefoy. I will not fight with Francis Bonnefoy. I will not fight with Francis Bonnefoy. I will not…_

Arthur stops writing for a moment to rub his now red hand. Both he and Francis had received detention for their behavior- but it was worth it. After all, the Frog had gotten _quite a few_ smarting bruises across his snout, while Arthur's ear just turned pink from the hit.

"Ahem."

Arthur ducks his head down and continues to write. Even if he had won that fight, McGonagall is as scary as hell.

_I will not fight with Francis Bonnefoy._

_I will not fight with Sourcils Kirkland. I will not fight with Sourcils Kirkland. I will not fight with Sourcils Kirkland. I will not fight with Sourcils Kirkland. I will not…_

Francis smirks as he dips his quill into the ink bottle, but grimaces when he feels his bottom jaw begin to throb. _'How dare that insane _Anglais_ do that to him?! But then again, Francis wouldn't mind getting back at the _putain de Gryffondor.'

"We need to talk," Alisdair says, when Arthur stumbles into the Gryffindor common room.

"Okay," he says with a shrug.

Alisdair steers Arthur by the shoulder to a table in the back where Daffyd and Patrick are working on their homework. When he takes a seat, his brothers immediately clear away their stuff. The three youngest Kirkland brothers look at Alisdair expectantly, but he stares at Arthur speculatively. He didn't appear angry; he just seemed to be studying Arthur as if he's a mathematical equation needed solving. Arthur squirms under Alisdair's gaze.

Alisdair finally takes a seat with a sigh and polishes his Prefect badge, using the front of his cloak. Arthur winces, recounting Francis' words from earlier that day. Suddenly, Alisdair reaches out and ruffles Arthur's hair.

"Don't do that!" Arthur tries to move away from Alisdair's hand, which is all in vain, of course. Alisdair has arms that look like red, hairy boa constrictors and is more than double Arthur's height.

"Alisdair," Patrick says, giving his older brother a warning look. He gives Pat an apologetic smile and stops messing around with Arthur.

"Anyway," Alisdair says, "what I wanted to talk about was your conduct."

"I know," Arthur grumbles. "'Don't get into fights.' I know already."

"And you're not listening," Patrick growls. "And for goodness' sake, Arthur, _sit up."_

Arthur grudgingly does as he's told. It's not that he's as stubborn as- okay, he's a _little_ stubborn. And even then, he knows better than to purposely disobey a superior, even if they are his older brothers. But there's Arthur can't help _not_ fighting the French idiot. _'He's just so…_infuriating_,'_ Arthur muses.

"Hey!" Patrick snaps his fingers loudly. "Are you even listening to us?"

Arthur straightens, blinking in surprise. "Huh?"

Arthur never listened.

* * *

><p>End of Chapter 1<p>

Word count: 4,522

Woah! This turned out SO MUCH longer than I anticipated! And this is just the first chapter too. I was thinking of breaking it down, but nah! It's fine right now, I suppose. The next chapters, though, are hopefully going to be shorter, but may vary radically in the future. I really don't know.

I've worked out the entire plot, and I can promise that it's going to be the longest one I've done yet, but my favorite.

Oh and **50 points** to the first person who can tell me what _"sourcils__"_ means in French!

Cover source is included in my profile.


	2. Year Two

**October 1, 1975**

"Come on, Artie! You can do it!"

"No sweat, Arthur! Just keep your eye on the ball!"

"Easy for you to say," Arthur mutters. "You're a Keeper."

Arthur mounted his broom, feeling hot and bothered in the Quidditch uniform, despite the October wind, and kicked off from the ground. His stomach fluttered and a drop of sweat trickled down his the side of his face.

_'Tryouts have barely started, idiot! Get a hold of yourself!'_

Arthur and his brothers had been practicing nearly every day during summer break for hours, perfecting each swerve, catch, and throw on his Nimbus 1000. How could Arthur and Daffyd _not_ be chosen as Chasers?

"Don't worry, Arth!" Alisdair called from the stands, as if reading his mind. "I know you can do it!"

Arthur grinned and gave his older brothers the thumbs up, feeling a boost of adrenaline and self-confidence. That's right. He can do it- no, he _will_ do it!

"Ready?" James Potter, the Gryffindor Quidditch captain asked. Arthur nodded, completely serious. "Alright, let's go!"

James tossed the Quaffle into the air and released the two Bludgers. Adeptly dodging the enchanted balls, Arthur swooped down and snatched the red ball. Using his momentum as he flew downwards, he then shot upwards, barely brushing past the substitute Keeper (Patrick had already tried out for Keeper so that he could keep his spot), and tossed the ball effortlessly into the lowest goal post.

Arthur heard his brothers hooting encouragingly, but forced himself to stay calm and concentrate. He flew back to the center of the pitch, and the Quaffle was thrown in his direction again. He rocketed forward and used his body and right arm to scoop up the falling ball. Out of the corner of his eye, Arthur spied the two Bludgers speeding up behind him. He swerved out of the way at the last second and the two iron balls zoomed towards the Keeper, who barely moved out of the way of the oncoming balls. This gave enough time for Arthur to skew to the right and cast the Quaffle into the medium goal post.

"Just one more," Arthur whispered to himself.

Arthur resumed his previous position in the middle of the field and James again pitched the ball toward him. He darted forward, but pulled up abruptly to avoid a Bludger from beneath. He dodged the other Bludger from the side and dove down to catch the Quaffle. For a terrifying moment, Arthur fumbled with the ball as he headed upward and tried to throw it into the middle ring. At first, he was sure the Keeper would catch it, but luckily the player miscalculated where the ball would go and didn't reach high enough to stop it.

Arthur punched his fist into the air at the third and final goal. He quickly rejoined Alisdair and Patrick in the stands, collapsing onto a bench.

"That was ace!" congratulated Patrick, clapping Arthur hard on the back.

Alisdair grinned and hugged Arthur, before ushering Daffyd to his feet. "Your turn, bonnie!"

"Don't call me…" Daffyd muttered, but doesn't even bother to finish his sentence.

"You'll be fine, Duff!" Arthur supported, as he launched into the air. "I was scared, too. But you won't let me pass you up, will you?"

"Password?" requested the Fat Lady.

"Ash worm," answered Gawain and he and Arthur entered the Gryffindor common room.

Gawain and Arthur had just returned from the Library, bags filled with books- none of which were from the Restricted Section, of course. But Arthur would _love_ to get his hands on one of the novels shelved there. Inside the common room, though, a crowd around the announcements board drew their attention.

"What's going on?" Arthur asked aloud, staring at the clamoring students.

Gawain thought for a moment before his eyes widened with a start. "Maybe it's the Quidditch team results!"

Without giving each other a second glance, the two of them rushed to the group. As Arthur tried to catch a glimpse of the papers, the only things he can see are the older kids' backs.

"Can't someone read them aloud?" Arthur said aloud, trying not to whine. The boy at the front gave him an empathetic look and complied.

"Beaters: Mathew J. McGonagall and Alisdair A. Kirkland

Chasers: Arthur E. Kirkland, Daffyd C. Kirkland, and James Potter

Keeper: Patrick B. Kirkland

Seeker: Jennifer Johnson"

-read the boy, but by the time he finished, Arthur and Gawain were bursting into their dormitory.

"Daffyd!" they practically screamed at the poor boy, who had been napping at the time. Daffyd groaned and sat up just as Arthur leapt onto his mattress, excited.

"Did you hear?" Arthur inquired, breathing heavily.

"Hear what?" Daffyd sat up, all drowsiness abandoned.

"The Quidditch results!" Gawain chirped, leaning against the bedframe.

Daffyd's eyes widened and he gaped at his two roommates. "No, let me see!"

The trio skittered into the common room and made a beeline to the board, where only a few kids lingered. Daffyd skimmed through the info and reread it, smiling.

"This is great! We're going to beat Slytherin for sure!"

* * *

><p><strong>November 3, 1975<strong>

Every day the Gryffindor Quidditch team had practiced for the upcoming game. But today, they were finally going to prove their prowess as a team- against Slytherin. Before the game started, the team met in their tent to discuss the plans.

"I don't care if we all know the drill," James said when they all take a seat. "But I'm going to say it anyway. Al, you guard Artie; Mat, Duff, I'll try to stick to one of you guys." He looked at Arthur and Daffyd who nodded in return.

"Once the twins or I get a hold of the ball, we'll do the HAF, but with Al and Mat under and below. Everyone remembers what HAF is, right? Good. Pat, if someone gets too close, we'll try to stall for you. But after that, you're on your own. Jen, Mat and Al will watch out for you as well. Just relax and do your job, but watch the scores." James paused to think for other details he left out. "And that's it! On the count of three: one, two, three!"

"GRYFFINDOR!"

"No cheating now. I want a clean game with _real_ sportsmanship. Understood?" Madam Hooch studied the hovering players. She stooped over the box and released the Bludgers and Snitch while cradling the Quaffle in her arms. "Let's play Quidditch!" Hooch whistled loudly and tossed the Quaffle into the air.

Daffyd dove for the ball and just barely grazed a Slytherin Chaser. At the same time, Arthur sped forward and flew alongside him at full speed. A Bludger suddenly shot toward Dafyd, but he passed it over to his brother and Mathew's bat slammed the ball right at an enemy Chaser, who, for a moment, was hanging onto the handle of his broomstick.

_'Now for HAF,'_ Arthur mused as James took a position in front of Daffyd and him, forming a "V."

HAF is the abbreviation for Hawkshead Attacking Formation, an old-school trick in which the three chasers on a team flew in a triangle shape to force other Chasers aside. The only difference though, was that the Gryffindor Beaters would be guarding from the bottom and top.

The five surged forward, and as expected, the Slytherin team is forced apart. As the distance between them and the scoring area diminished, everyone except Arthur pulled up and formed a shield around the perimeter of the scoring area. Without slowing down, Arthur raced to the closest ring, where the goal was waiting for him. Arthur faked a punch and the Keeper flinched, allowing him to throw it into the ring.

Arthur quickly headed to rejoin his team. As he passed by their opponents, he purposely brushed past a certain blonde Chaser with blue eyes.

_"Sourcils,"_ drawled Francis, glowering at him.

Arthur gave him a smug look. "_Frog_."

* * *

><p>End of Chapter 2<p>

Words: 1,325

This is more like a filler chapter. The next ones will be much longer and have more action. This chapter was really meant to show the relationships between the boys some more and their positions as Quiditch players. This was actually written a while ago during the summer, so the next chapters will be written much more smoothly. During the summer, I was doing a lot of improvement on my writing, which you may or may not tell.

Hope you enjoyed, and the next one will be up sooner (hopefully).


	3. Year Three

**September 2, 1976**

Author felt as if he was asleep. The air was heavy with smoke and incense, and lulled him into a half-conscious state. However, he shook his head and did his best to blink away the drowsiness. Arthur took in a breath of the warm, sweet air and made his way from the trapdoor entrance to a circular table in the back of the classroom.

_'Who would call this dump a classroom," _Arthur thought, frowning. The "classroom" looked like a cross between a broom closet and an attic. The lights were dim and there was a peculiar stench that clung to the atmosphere. Strangely colored candles floated around the classroom; they were probably responsible for the smell. At least twenty small, circular tables crowded the small room. Little, plush poufs and chintz armchairs surrounded the tables, eliminating any easy access around the class.

Arthur really should have listened to Al and Pat.

* * *

><p><em>"Divination? Why would you want to take <em>that?"_ Alisdair abandoned the Daily Prophet and gave Arthur a look of pure exasperation._

_ "What's wrong with divination?" Arthur frowned as he washed the dishes from their breakfast._

_ "Did I hear the word 'divination'?" Patrick poked his head into the kitchen. "Ugh, I _hated_ that class. It was just a waste of time! I could have been doing more worthwhile things…"_

_ As Patrick droned on and on, Arthur sighed and put away the last clean plate. The weather today on the moors looked absolutely beautiful. It was a wonderful day for Quidditch, he decided. And after that, he'd take a much needed nap._

* * *

><p>Arthur looked around the class for his best friend Gawain and his older twin brother Daffyd. But he quickly realized that neither of the boys was to be seen. Deciding he'd rather go looking for them, Arthur turned around and headed for the trapdoor. However, no sooner had he lifted the door, he heard a voice croak behind him.<p>

"Young boy, where are you going?"

Arthur spun around to see an elderly woman with greying, long hair and big blue-green eyes. She looked inquiringly at Arthur, her head tilted.

"Erm, I was about to go find my brother…" Arthur trailed off when the woman suddenly brightened.

"Oh yes, I remember him. He's the one with the ponytail, yes?" Arthur nodded. "Yes, he and Mr. Robards required if they could visit Professor McGonagall. However, I can see that they are having trouble in Arithmancy- oh don't look so down, dear!"

Arthur frowned and tried not to look so upset. _'Daffyd and Gawain just abandoned me! Those traitors! They didn't even tell me…'_

"But I foresee that Divination is just the right class for you. You will make priceless connections that will carry you forward immensely." The professor- Professor Penilune, she introduced- began steering Arthur to a table, but stopped. "No, you're better off…. Yes, you should sit over here." She steered him to the other side of the classroom to a different table. "Please take a seat, Mr. Kirkland. Your first adventure starts here."

But when Arthur took a seat, he tried to not scream in outrage and horror. Sitting right beside him was the incarnate of the devil himself: Francis Bonnefoy.

"Frog."

_"Sourcils__."_

Arthur held back the urge to attack the Slytherin. Francis, feeling the same way, leant back into the armchair and smirked. Arthur forced himself to clasp his hands together and placed them on his knees. That way, he would be able to resist kicking the Frog and slugging him in that giant nose of his.

Professor Plenilune, however, beamed at them. "Oh good, you two already know each other! You will be partners in class from now on."

_'Fuck.'_

* * *

><p>"So how was your first Divination class?" Alisdair asked during lunch. Patrick grinned at Arthur and Daffyd sank a bit in his seat.<p>

"I don't want to talk." Arthur glared at Daffyd and Gawain, whose faces had turned beet red.

"What happened?" A look of sympathy came over Patrick's face.

"Oh nothing- except that two certain_ backstabbers abandoned me."_

"Well you could always change your schedule," Daffyd muttered.

"Yeah, except for _one, teensy, little problem."_ Arthur jutted his thumb behind him at the Slytherin table. "That _bloody frog_ is my Divinations _partner- _and if anyone's going to leave, he's going _first_!_"_

Alisdair and Patrick suddenly burst out laughing. Even Gawain and Daffyd were holding back grins. Arthur glared at them.

"Hey! This isn't funny!" Arthur jumped to his feet and leaned over the table so that Alisdair could see him. "Are you listening?"

"You definitely weren't," Patrick spoke up.

"What do you mean by that?"

"In your First and Second Years, you kept getting in so much trouble because you _fought_ with 'the frog' despite the countless times we punished you. But who knows? Maybe you'll be able to tolerate him- and stop getting into trouble."

"But he's the _frog!"_

* * *

><p><strong>September 14, 1976<strong>

"It looks like a blob."

"They all look like blobs, Frog. Just choose one type of blob."

"Tut-tut! You shouldn't be so impatient!"

Arthur rolled his eyes at Francis who was currently examining Arthur's tea dreg. Francis kept tilting his head at different angles and rotating the cup as he peered at the dried tea sediments.

"No, it actually…" Francis glances at their textbook, _Unfogging the Future._ "Oh, here it is! Ahem, 'a cross symbolizes trial and suffering.'" Francis smirked at Arthur who scoffed in disbelief. "Well that doesn't sound very eventful, _Sourcils__."_

"Oh please. I bet yours isn't any better."

Francis handed his teacup to Arthur, who held it up to the light. "Hmm… Looks like a…" Arthur's eyebrows shot up in surprise. "It is fire: 'passion; hot emotion; sexual desire.'"

Francis' friends, Thorfinn Rowle and Barty Crouch, burst out into hysterics. Francis, embarrassed, grabbed the cup out of Arthur's hands.

"Wait a minute! _This _doesn't even look a thing like fire!" Francis sneered at Arthur who just grinned mischievously back at him.

"Is there any trouble?"

The four boys jumped in their seats and turned around quickly to see Professor Plenilune. She motioned for them to hand her the cups. As she examined their cups, she muttered indistinctly under her breath. Arthur raised an eyebrow at Francis who only shrugged in answer. Finally she spoke.

"Your cup," Plenilune handed it back to Arthur, "depicts a fox, meaning you will run into a deceitful individual, who will try to trick you. Please _do_ be careful with the people you meet. As for this, the mask means that you have a secret that cannot be told to anyone, or misfortune shall occur." The professor then moved on to Francis, leaving Arthur to ponder over the omen.

"Oh, quite a lot here, Mr. Bonnefoy!" the teacher suddenly exclaimed, "A swallow, a bear, and a male lion. Hmm!

"A swallow means love and new beginnings. A bear is a grouchy and difficult person. And lastly, a male lion represents a powerful contact or important man- Are you two taking notes?"

Arthur and Francis ducked their heads down and scribbled the information down on parchment. The professor then moved on to Rowle and Crouch. Arthur, though, frowned and looked at his teacup. It really _did_ look like a fox and a mask. And Francis'… Arthur's eyes drift over to the cup and, sure enough, those gunky shapes appeared on the side of the cup, exactly like what their teacher had said.

'_That's interesting.'_

* * *

><p><strong>December 10, 1976<strong>

"Today, we will cover orb-gazing in class. I do not expect non-seers to see a lot on this first time, but maybe when you return from Christmas break, there will be a difference in results." Professor Plenilune explained, as she set a crystal ball on each table.

Arthur frowned at the foggy orb. He definitely couldn't see anything- unless you could count the mist. He yawned and glanced at Francis, who appeared just as unimpressed as the rest of the class- although, he always looked like that.

"…Do not strain your eyes, children. Relax your inner mind and outer sight. Let the Sight take hold of you..."

Despite their lethargy-inducing surroundings, Arthur found that the distractions seemed to disappear when he focused on the crystal ball. And, although he wouldn't admit it, he thought he could see a faint outline of a man.

A shiver ran up his spine.

It _was _a man. And he wasn't alone.

Arthur's hand flew up and banged loudly against the underneath of the table. He watched helplessly as the ball rolled across the table and over the table's edge. The sound of shattering glass was ensued of course, and was almost as loud as the blood roaring in Arthur's ears.

All eyes fixated on him. Arthur felt his face heat up instantly, and he stammered out an apology.

"There is no need to feel sorry, Mr. Kirkland," Plenilune said aloud, dryly. "You just did me a grand favor: for once I'll have someone to accompany me during lunch- lunch detention that is."

When Arthur climbed into the Divination classroom, he was surprised to find the air clear of smoke and strange scents. It also seemed that Professor Plenilune was not in either. Arthur considered abandoning lunch detention, but quickly changed his mind. He didn't want to get in trouble again, especially if his brothers found out.

Moving carefully across the classroom, he took a seat near the front. It was less cluttered and closest to the exit. On the other side of the room, light filtered in through a large window, whose curtains had been pulled over it during class.

However, Arthur's attention was focused completely on one thing: a crystal ball.

Out of all the tables he had to choose from, it was the one supplied by the misty sphere. He wondered if he should change seats, but was too captivated by the figures inside, who appeared one second, only to disappear the next.

Watching it was unlike anything Arthur had seen. Nearly everything was black and white, except for spontaneous bursts of color, which would die down just as quickly as it had appeared. The mist started to collect around the edges, before vanishing all together.

The same man from before materialized, and Arthur held his breath. At first his face was an inconspicuous blur, though Arthur realized he was wearing a mask. However, he was slumped and looked hurt, and his clothes were torn. On his left forearm there was a tattoo – _the Darkmark_, Arthur discerned, with a sickening twist of his stomach- and he clutched a small child in the other arm.

Arthur watched in both fascination and horror, as the body of a woman took form from the mist and lay sprawled at the man's feet. She was also wounded and appeared to be dying- if not dead. The only thing that moved was the child- a little boy.

The boy's entire body was trembling with such intense and violent fear; Arthur wanted to reach in pluck him from that torn-up world. He turned to look at the woman, his mother, and then the man, his father, and back at his woman. And then he looked at Arthur.

A spectrum of blues and yellows and reds exploded on the surface of the crystal ball, filling and spreading like spilled ink on paper and Arthur was out like a light.

* * *

><p><strong>December 25, 1976<strong>

When Arthur woke up, he didn't just wake up. He immediately sat up, back as straight as an arrow, and stared at his bedroom wall. The clean blankness brought him back to reality, and he shook his head to clear his mind of any lingering nightmares. He had been dreaming of the vision he had seen in the crystal ball, and has been ever since he had woken up from his unconsciousness in the Divination classroom- and yet, just thinking about it left the image fresh in his mind.

Apparently he had fainted after seeing it, and was discovered by Professor Plenilune. She had escorted him to the Hospital Wing, of course, although he was released from there only thirty minutes after he regained his consciousness. His brothers and friends were there to see him, worried about him, but he never told them why he passed out.

"_I don't…remember_," Arthur had mumbled, pressing his right palm against his forehead.

But he _did_ remember- every _single_ detail of that traumatizing image- the little boy, untouched by the physical pain, and yet his crystal blue eyes gave away the inside hell- the father dropped his son and ran into the mist, howling bloody murder and evaporating in a blast of green light- the boy was screaming now, hands clenched the crimson cloak of his mother- and Arthur could not- he could not…

He couldn't help him; he couldn't help Francis and it had been eating away at him ever since.

Arthur kicked the blanket off of his legs and jumped out of bed. He ignored the chill of the Scottish winter air and stepped quickly, but quietly, out of his room. Down the hall and turning into another room, he skidded to a stop at his mother's bed side.

She had always reminded Arthur of a specter- sometimes "there", sometimes not. She even looked like one. Her wispy grey hair framed a pail face and high cheekbones. She was skinny too- not the slim, healthy kind, but the sickly feeble type.

Two years ago, she was _strong_. She could run across the hills, chasing rabbits with her sons, pitching quaffles at them, and _living_. She wasn't bedridden all day and she didn't need a healer to babysit her every day. She was normal.

Maybe it was the sadness; their father's death could have been eating away at her for years, behind a smile and a hug. And when she couldn't stand it any longer, when she was drowning in her own emotional liquor, her body began to bend and break. Sickness took her flesh and her soul dwindled like a candle stub. She had died the moment she gave in.

Tucked under a heavy quilt and propped by lace-fringed pillows, she looked more like a corpse. Her bony hands were clasped together over her stomach, and the photos placed perfectly on the headboard reminded Arthur of a memorial. Every breath she breathed in was like a thin gasp, and each exhale was a kettle's wheeze. She was so still, so quiet, Arthur felt like an intruder of a different world.

"Arthur…"

Arthur clambered up the bed and flopped down beside his mother, curling into her side. She cracked an eye and smiled transparently. A glimmer in those pale green eyes were evidence enough of the flame of her soul, growing one millimeter at a time.

"Mum," Arthur whispered, and she drew a skeletal finger across his cheek. "I had a nightmare, mummy."

She sighed, a quiet answer, but it was as loud as "I'm listening to you, sweetest."

And so he told her.

He told her about the crystal ball, about Francis and his parents, about the death that had taken away everything Francis had. And she listened, and she saw the magic of Arthur's vision, of the despair that she shared with Francis, of the sickness that was trying to destroy her and would destroy him if he remained quiet about it.

She wanted to help him _so badly_.

Arthur fell silent at the end of his retell, and he was now lying out, one arm around his mother's stomach, cheek resting against hers. She squeezed his hand, and he could feel the warmth of her fire emanating from within.

"He will," she breathed and swallowed heavily, "need a priceless friendship that only you can give."

Arthur didn't say anything and pulled himself closer to his mother.

"You're so cold," he said and she sighed again before falling back to sleep.

* * *

><p><strong>January 8, 1977<strong>

A scream of rage plowed through Arthur's thoughts as he shuffled idly past sugar powdered pine trees. He turned just as a column of blue light missed him by mere centimeters and he instinctively hit the ground. Rolling onto his stomach, he stared through the trees to make out whom had screamed and sent a spell his way.

Arthur saw the Frog several feet away, in his royal-esque poise: back straight, head tilted up, sideways sneer, and hands clenched. Surprisingly, two Seventh years were facing Francis, wands held up at him. It seemed that they were dueling.

Arthur snuck up closer and peeked from behind a large tree root. Francis hadn't even been looking at him in the first place, which meant that the older boys had been the ones to cast the spell. Under closer inspection, Francis was bleeding from his forehead and he was leaning awkwardly on one leg; the other was twisted.

The other two remained unfamiliar to Arthur. He may have seen them once in the Great Hall, but the only thing he could make out was that they were both in Ravenclaw. They were slandering profanely at Francis and Arthur felt his stomach twist.

The taller one of the Ravenclaws shot a spell at Francis' good leg, and he cried out as he fell face-down into the snow. The other took a step forward towards Francis, fist raised.

Arthur quickly stepped out from behind the tree and aimed his wand at him. "_Flipendo_!"

He watched the shorter Ravenclaw being launched sideways into the air and crash into a tree. Snow toppled from the tree branches and piled onto the flailing Seventh Year. However, Arthur didn't get to celebrate his victory.

Red sparks were cannonballed from his opponent's wand and Arthur ducked and rolled. He leaped behind another tree and shot a disarming charm in the Ravenclaw's direction. As he did, he spied Francis crawl out of the way, behind a tree a few feet away from him. He gave Arthur a thumbs-up, before taking up his wands.

"_Avis_!"

"_Oppugno_!"

A flock of small, yellow birds burst from Arthur's wand, and attacked the Seventh Year at the whim of Francis' spell. The boy ducked as several shredded his hood. Others nicked his arms and chest, but he didn't need another warning. Francis and Arthur watched him turn and run, the feathery fiends at his back.

Arthur faced Francis, who sat beside the tree he had taken shelter behind. His face was smeared with drying blood, which had originally been pouring from a cut above his left eyebrow. His right leg was in worst condition, though. It looked like a boulder had dropped onto it, crumpling it like an aluminum can.

"Come on, I'll help you to the hospital wing," Arthur said, crouching beside Francis, beside his bad leg. He looped an arm under his left arm, securing him. "I'm going to stand on three, okay? One, two, three!"

They managed to stand, slowly, and carefully toddled forward, in the direction of the Hogsmeade exit. However, walking was a whole different matter. The snow felt unusually deep and unstable as they inched through the uneven powder.

"You two!"

Arthur's grip on his wand tightened and he prepared to send another disarming spell towards the voice. However, the sigh of relief from Francis made him think twice.

"You know him?" Arthur asked, trying to get a look at the boy behind them.

Francis nodded. "_Oui_, he is in my house. He's shy, but fairly nice."

The boy crouched in front of Francis as soon as he saw his state. Arthur watched as the boy conjured up a bandage and a splint. Francis couldn't help but sigh loudly in relief as his weight was placed on the makeshift brace and his pain eased slightly.

The boy volunteered to take Francis' bad side for Arthur, since he was a Seventh Year and taller. As they headed back to the Hogwarts carriages, Arthur studied the newcomer.

The boy had dark hair that appeared unkempt and oily, framing his face like curtains. He walked with a slight quiver, which was only noticeable if you stared long enough. His hooked nose seemed to be broken; may have to do with his broken stride. As for his face, he was pale and looked older than he really was. To conclude, he didn't give off the best impression.

Finally, they arrived at the Hogwarts gate, long after the Slytherin had shot Arthur a glare for staring for so long. At the sight of the three boys, though, Professor McGonagall rushed towards them. She had a strange expression that combined both motherly worry and a fury that should be reserved only for the Bloody Baron.

As Professor McGonagall and another teacher swept Francis into the castle, Arthur turned to the older boy.

"Thanks," he said, holding out his hand to the boy. "And, uh, my name's Arthur Kirkland."

The Slytherin examined Arthur's hand for a moment, as though it was a snake about to bite him. Eventually, he shook it briefly, but not without caution.

"You're welcome," he replied curtly. "I'm Severus Snape."

* * *

><p><strong>January 9, 1977<strong>

"_Merci beaucoup, mon cher Anglais_," Francis purred, at the sight of Arthur.

Arthur glared venomously at him as he set his bag down at the foot of Francis' sick bed. The French boy continued to grin cheekily at him.

"I'm only doing this because Professor McGonagall is making me, Frog." Arthur pulled out several papers and placed them on the table beside the bed. "No homework from Divination, by the way."

Although Francis didn't stop smiling, his eye softened to friendliness. "I was thanking you, Arthur," he said, and he kicked him lightly with his good leg.

Arthur shrugged. "Whatever. Just don't bother me, okay?"

"Okay."

* * *

><p>End of Chapter 3<p>

Word Count: 3,623

Firstly, an apology for the late update. Now that I have school put aside and all the time in the world, I should be writing again. I'm really glad with how things are progressing in the story. I have the plot worked out, but putting them into words is one thing. I'm a little worried that this will take up all my time and I won't be able to get to my other ideas by the time school starts, but we'll just have to see.

Thanks so much for reading this. It also really makes my day to hear your input or just a simple "Good Job!" Until next time, _adieu!_


	4. Year Four

**October 15, 1977**

This was either the stupidest thing Arthur had agreed to, or the most fun. After much persuasion and chocolate frog bribery, Francis had coaxed Arthur into adventuring with him into the Forbidden Forest. Francis had claimed he saw a unicorn in the forest, near the groundskeeper's hut, and the two planned to feed (and pet) it. Arthur, though, mainly wanted to explore the mysterious woods.

As Arthur was following the French boy, he couldn't help but cringe at the sound of twigs snapping underfoot. He quickly looked around, hoping no one heard him.

"Get down," Francis hissed, from behind a tree root the size of an elephant's foot. "Or you'll scare her away!"

Arthur crawled up beside him, but not without glaring at him. "How do you know it is a 'she' anyway? Unicorns can be male, too, I think," he whispered.

Francis motioned for Arthur to quiet down and move closer. Arthur peered over the Slytherin's shoulder. As he did, he was vaguely aware of the lean muscles Francis had built over the summer, and the smell of shaving cream. He seemed to have grown at least an inch as well.

"Over there," Francis breathed, and Arthur looked where he was gazing.

The unicorn was a youthful one; silver with golden specks gave that much away. Although it hadn't yet grown a horn yet, Arthur could easily imagine the pure white cone between its ears. As for its mane, the hair was long and silver, and seemed to reflect moonlight.

However, as quickly as the creature had appeared, it was gone, spooked by something else entirely. Francis immediately glared at Arthur.

"I told you to stay down!" Francis jumped to his feet, dusting dirt off of his robes.

"_Me_?" Arthur said, aghast. "It was probably you! Couldn't you hear how loud you were breathing?"

Before Francis could retaliate, a large shadow fell over them and they immediately fell silent. Arthur's stomach churned as a hand as big as a bear claw clamped onto his shoulder. It seemed that Hagrid, the gamekeeper, had found them.

* * *

><p><strong>October 16, 1977<strong>

"Make sure to get the undersides, too!"

Arthur sighed and nodded, wiping a moist rag against a candelabrum's wooden surface. For punishment, he had received the pleasure of polishing the castle's candelabrums for the rest of the week, from six PM to eight-thirty. But according to Filch, this was light work, compared to "traditional discipline."

Fortunately, Alisdair was now an adult and working, so it was impossible for him to find out, unless Patrick and Daffyd decided to rat him out. Otherwise, Alisdair would have already prepared some torturous task, like cleaning the Quidditch teams' showers or the Owlery (whichever was worse, Arthur had no idea).

And maybe, if that French frog could find a better place to hide, other than behind a suit of armor, Arthur might be able to sneak past Filch's hunched back.

'_Come here_,' mouthed Francis, waving a broom in the air like it was bait.

'_No_,' Arthur replied silently, '_Filch is here_.'

Francis rolled his eyes, but stayed where he was. Arthur was standing at the intersection of two hallways, and one the Filch was strolling in was adjacent to where Francis hid, so any visibility of the other was impossible. However, if Filch was able to be lured towards the Slytherin boy, maybe Francis would be sent back to the Detention Chamber, under more watchful eyes. After all, it was all because of him that Arthur got in trouble.

Arthur almost dropped the candelabrum when Francis mounted his broom, and began floating down the hallway. He grinned evilly at Arthur, who stood in shock as the boy began to fly faster and was heading straight him.

Arthur ducked.

"_Au revoir_!" Francis sang, at the top of his lungs. He had missed the Gryffindor by mere centimeters, and even had the valor to graze past Filch. Filch, of course, was set like a ticking bomb, and raced after him, screaming bloody murder and spitting venom.

Arthur ran.

By the time Arthur reached the Great Hall, most had already eaten dinner, and so it was only half-full. He managed to sneak in, feeling very nervous, and nearly collapsed on the table bench.

"You look like you ran from the lake," remarked Gawain, spooning the last of his stew into his mouth. "What happened _now_?"

"Filch," Arthur wheezed, before helping himself to a goblet of pumpkin juice. "He's insane- and Francis, too."

"Francis?" Daffyd repeated, although he was more focused on removing mashed potatoes from his ponytail. "What about him?"

"He, well he…" Arthur then told the epic tale of how they got detention by unicorn-watching in the forest and their later life-threatening escape from detention. It was only after he finished speaking did he wonder whether Francis really did managed to avoid further punishment.

After rotating his body an entire 180 degrees and glaring at the Slytherin table, Arthur found the French boy seated at one end, sneering into his goblet. But as though there was a psychic connection between them, Francis looked up and their eyes met.

They both grinned.

"Arthur," a voice ground out, and said Gryffindor boy froze.

"Patrick," Arthur mumbled out grudgingly, and glared up at the prefect. "Do you need anything?"

The freckled Sixth Year frowned and crossed his arms, brushing his fingers across his badge as he did so. "Shouldn't you be in detention?"

Arthur raised both eyebrows in fake surprise. "What? Not at all!"

"Uh huh…" Patrick made a face, as though he was sucking a sour lollipop, and tilted his head. "Maybe I should ask Professor McGonagall? You're probably just mistaken."

"No!" Arthur jumped to his feet, and held his hands out in a 'stop' gesture. "Uh, you probably wouldn't want to. After all, look at how she's enjoying her dinner…"

Arthur scowled and lowered his arms, fists clenched. As for Patrick, he just smiled and led him out the Great Hall, grabbing Francis along the way.

"I'll be nice and let you boys polish the trophy room. How does that sound?"

"Bloody brilliant," Arthur mumbled sarcastically, scowling at the back of Patrick's head. Maybe if he stared hard enough, he would disappear. Unfortunately, he did not.

"Wonderful," Francis said under his breath, and the two misfits exchanged looks of suffering.

As they trudged after him, though, Francis reached out and grabbed Arthur's hand. Staring out the window, they saw a beast standing stock still among the trees. It was a silver silhouette, in the shape of a horse.

* * *

><p><strong>December 25, 1977<strong>

"Merry Christmas, _rosbif_," a very enthusiastic Francis greeted. He had been waiting by the Great Hall's entrance.

"Merry Christmas, Frog," Arthur replied, tiredly. "I couldn't get a wink, I was so hyper."

It was Christmas morning and Arthur was spending it at Hogwarts. His mother's condition had worsened and she was currently being hospitalized at St. Mungo's. Meanwhile, Alistair was busy with his new job –Arthur believed he specialized in the protection of endangered magical birds- and so the brothers wouldn't be going home. But by the time summer vacation came, Patrick would be legally old enough to take care of the twins.

"Me too," agreed Francis. "Though, it was more because it was so silent, you know? Everyone's gone except a few of us… Are you okay?"

"Huh? Oh, yeah. Why?" Arthur smiled at Francis.

Francis studied Arthur's expression. "I don't know. You seem a little down, recently." He gave Arthur a sympathetic look. "Is your mother okay?"

"No, but she's being taken care of well. St. Mungo's has always been the best, by the way."

"So I've heard, but if you need anything-"

"I'm fine and I don't need anything except…" Arthur sighed and took a step away from the Great Hall and Francis. "I'll be on the Quidditch field. See you, Frog."

Francis found Arthur in the Divination classroom, curled up in one of the armchairs. A misty crystal ball sat before him on the table. Occasionally red would blossom on the surface, or a green light shot across the glass like a shooting star.

"I was hoping to see my mother," Arthur said quietly. His voice was thick and heavy- had he been crying? "But I always end up seeing you instead."

"Me? How?" Francis asked curiously and a little bit hopefully. He felt a pang of guilt when he remembered what Arthur was going through over his mother. "Are you-"

"I saw your parents."

"Oh."

"I'm sorry."

They never brought it up again.

* * *

><p><strong>December 27, 1977<strong>

It was midnight and Arthur was home in Angus Glens. He stood alone before the Kirkland family vault. Two silver plaques hung over the locked entrance: Mum and Dad. A charm kept them from weathering and both looked as though they'd been put there that very day. But then again, one of them really had been hung there that morning.

Arthur's father had been in the tomb since 1970, the beginning of the First Wizarding War. He was an Auror at the time, and to his sons, the bravest one.

His plaque read:

_James Richard Kirkland_

_1935-1970_

_A loving father, caring husband, and courageous hero_

But for once, Arthur couldn't bring himself to look at the plaques. Instead, he fixed his gaze on the ground and spoke quietly to his mother's plaque.

"Hi, Mum, Alisdair picked me up from the train station yesterday when he found out what happened…I'm okay, but miss you. I wish you could be here and things could be easier. I wish Dad had never died so that you wouldn't have fallen ill."

Arthur swallowed hard.

"I love you, Mum."

_Cordelia Maccailín-Kirkland_

_1936-1977_

_A strong woman and irreplaceable mother._

* * *

><p>End of Chapter 4<p>

Word Count: 1,618

This was really hard for me to write. I'm not used to writing sad/tragic literature. However, I hope you enjoyed it anyway. Also, the next chapter should be uploaded soon. :)


	5. Year Five

**Year Five**

**February 14, 1978**

"We need to talk."

As soon as Arthur had stepped out of his potions class, he had been confronted by Francis. After promising to have supper with Gawain and Daffyd, they set off together down the seventh corridor towards The Quad courtyard. However, before they could even step outside, Francis stopped him.

"I want to go somewhere quiet," Francis said, and started in the opposite direction.

"Wait," Arthur followed after him, pulling on his sleeve. "I have a better idea. We could always go to the library."

As Arthur began to march towards the stairwell, Francis tugged harshly on his robes.

"That's _too_ quiet. Everyone will hear us." Francis complained.

"Then what do you suppose," Arthur snapped. He crossed his arms and raised his eyebrows inquiringly. "There's not a place in the school that'll be good enough for you, anyway."

"Well there's always-no, it's too…Arthur!"

Arthur was heading towards the stairwell once more as Francis ran to catch up with him. He was already tired and grouchy from the monotony of class. They were in their fifth year and they had to prepare for their OWL Examinations.

Arthur exceptionally hoped to qualify for Auror training after their seventh year. Not only was it extremely intense, but very few people would be able to actually get the job. However, Arthur's father was an Auror and he wouldn't accept any less from his sons. Also, with He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named and his followers still at large, the Auror branch would be desperate for more men and women to defeat them.

"I've got to study, Francis. So do you, if you plan to do something with your life instead of playing Quidditch 24/7!"

Arthur glared at Francis, but the Slytherin was persistent. Francis clasped his hands together and held them out like a beggar.

"Please, Arthur? Just for a few minutes- it won't take that long." Francis gave Arthur his most pathetic, doe-eyed look. "_Please_."

Arthur glanced at his watch and then Francis.

"I'll go easy on you at our next game," Francis cajoled. "No one will know."

Arthur sighed and nodded. "Fine, but make up your mind."  
>"I have," Francis said, grinning. "You've heard of the 'Come and Go Room', right?"<p>

Arthur had always thought that the Come and Go Room had always been just a rumor made up by one of the students. Also known as the Room of Requirement, an individual may only enter if in dire need. However, the Come and Go Room was no longer just a rumor, and its magic was finally revealed to Arthur.

And so were Francis' feelings.

In one breath and without a moment's hesitation, Francis confided. "I love you, Arthur. I really do."

Arthur was shocked. But he was also confused and unbelievable delighted.

He shook his head in disbelief "Me…You love _me_?"

"Yes," Francis said softly and chuckled shakily. "Yes, Arthur, I-I've loved you for a very long time." He reached out and squeezed Arthur's hand. "But do you…"

Arthur nodded. "Yes, yes, I could love nothing more."

Francis leaned close to Arthur. Arthur could barely breathe.

"Then seal it with a kiss, _mon amour_."

And so they kissed.

After that, they were forced to part ways and hurry to their next class. No one would have deduced anything out of the ordinary from the red on their cheeks and the look in their eyes. As far as anyone would know, Arthur Kirkland and François Bonnefoy were only friends.

* * *

><p><strong>February 17, 1978<strong>

"Is _this_ your version of a first date, Frog?" Arthur teased. He hugged Francis tightly from behind as they floated above the Black Lake.

Francis had successfully persuaded Arthur to sneak out with him past curfew for a "romantic" broom flight over the lake.

"What, you expected something fancy? Well then you should have asked, love," Francis replied, intertwining his fingers with Arthur's.

Arthur smiled and rested his head on Francis' back. Despite the autumn chill, he felt warmth flooding his chest when Francis was this close to him.

The broom slowed down and they landed on the bank of the lake. The sun had set hours ago, but Arthur could still make out the line of trees and the path to the school entrance. As he stared longer, he noted a lantern bobbing up and down in midair.

"Merlin's beard," Francis hissed and pulled Arthur with him behind a tree. "It's Filch!"

"He must have seen us," Arthur replied, as they started to run uphill, away from the caretaker. "We can sneak past through the Quidditch field. Come on."

Still holding hands, they managed to evade Filch and sneak back into their beds.

* * *

><p><strong>February 18, 1978<strong>

"Where were you last night?"

Arthur looked up from the Sunday Prophet at his brother, Daffyd. As soon as supper had finished, Arthur had snuck away with Francis when Daffyd's back was turned; or, rather, everyone's backs.

Arthur frowned and raised an eyebrow. "What?"

His brother scowled. "You know what I mean, Art. You were with Bonnefoy again, weren't you?"

"Actually, I was studying," Arthur responded, chewing on a piece of toast. "I'm slacking in Potions class. I got an Acceptable on our mock test."

"I know you got an A. And I also know you are lying," Daffyd said, picking the toast out of Arthur's hands and taking a bite out of it. "Who stays past curfew _studying_?"

"I didn't, I fell asleep," Arthur protested, "But I _did_ study- and I'll be taking that back." He reached out for his toast as Daffyd moved away.

"Arthur," a voice said, interrupting the two brothers' antics. They both looked up at their best friend, Gawain.

"You said you wanted help with potions…?" Gawain gestured sleepily in the direction of the Great Hall's exit.

"Oh right," Arthur stood up, grabbing his satchel and smirking at Daffyd, who stuck out his tongue. "Again, thanks so much."

"No problem," Daffyd replied, pulling out a textbook from his own bag and handing it to Arthur. "These are helpful by the way."

As they exited, Arthur gave the textbook back. "You know, I never asked for help."

"I know, but I thought we could talk in privacy." Gawain looked a bit uneasy as he spoke, even though they didn't quite look at each in the eye.

"Sure, mate. Whatever you want."

Gawain closed the dorm doors and sat on the edge of his bed, while Arthur seated on his own.

"Are you and Francis…Uh, are you two maybe just a little more than friends?"

Arthur's heart skipped a beat and he gawked at his friend. Gawain immediately grimaced and apologized.

"Sorry, didn't mean to prod, but it's just- oh." Gawain fell silent when he saw Arthur awkwardly nod. "So I'm right, then?"

"Yeah, you are." Arthur inhaled sharply. "It's strange, isn't it?"

Gawain smiled. "The fact that he's a boy? Not really. But a Slytherin? Hell yeah."

Arthur grinned back. "Well consider me weird."

"Okay, weirdo. But we're still beating his ass in Quidditch."

"Who said we wouldn't?"

* * *

><p>End of Chapter 5<p>

God, this was sappy, but it gets worse...

I'm starting to dislike it even more and more, especially with the way it's set up. Any suggestions? Also, I'm considering on making these first seven chapters one entire story, but a prequel to the actual one.

Thoughts?


	6. Year Six

**Year Six**

**November 10, 1979**

A thin layer of early snow had graced the school and surrounding land over night. It mostly gathered in trees, on roof tops, and window sills, but there was just enough to fill the space in between the cobblestones of the High Street in Hogsmeade. Even though Christmas was more than two months away, the students chattered and played as though it was but a week away.

"It's cold isn't it?" Francis sniffled behind his woolen gloves. Arthur and him were wrapped warmly in thick coats and sweaters, although the cold still managed to make them shiver.

"It is," Arthur replied, with a stuffed nose. "Though I think it was worse last year."

"_Oui_, much worse," agreed Francis, "We were snowed in for weeks."

"Actually, only one and a half, Frog," Arthur corrected, moving closer to him. "And where are we going again?"

"Only the finest of pubs that Britain has to offer," Francis said, smiling, "or at least, the only place with edible food."

"Excuse you, but we invented Butterbeer! I can't imagine what France has to offer over that." Arthur smirked, but Francis just shook his head in mock dismay.

"Well, I was already planning on going to the Three Broomsticks for that," Francis admitted as they turned a corner.

At that moment, Arthur realized how close they were to each other. He grinned as Francis "discreetly" placed an arm over his shoulder and pulled him closer.

"Warm enough?" Arthur teased, and Francis rubbed Arthur's shoulder endearingly.

"Very," he answered, and Arthur's heart melted.

As per usual, the Three Broomsticks Inn was filled with people and noisy with incessant chatter. As Arthur and Francis made their way to the back of the pub in search of a table, he noticed some classmates giving them curious looks. However, the two of them managed to find a table for two without trouble and out of sight of other students.

"Don't you find that annoying?" Arthur asked, after they had ordered their drinks.

"Find what annoying?" Francis held Arthur's hand under the table.

Arthur sighed and said quietly, "The staring."

"If anyone asks just say we're only here to make bets and talk about tomorrow's game between Gryffindor and Slytherin."

The waitress served them their drinks before Arthur could speak. They thanked her before continuing their conversation.

"I'm not talking about just today. I'm talking about everyday!" Arthur's voice rose just above a whisper. "What will happen to us if someone –like my brothers- finds out?"

Francis squeezed Arthur's hand. "Relax, you're worrying over nothing. To everyone else, we're just good friends. It's only weird to them because our houses are rivals.

"And anyway, I'm sure that if your brothers found out, they'd understand. Gawain does, right? So why not them?"

Arthur smiled at the thought. "Point taken," he said and saw Francis' face brighten. However, Francis didn't understand Arthur's brothers like he did –especially Alisdair.

"So how about tomorrow's game?" Francis prompted, grinning slyly.

"You're going down, Frog," Arthur promised, taking a swig out of Francis' bottle. "That, I have no doubt."

* * *

><p><strong>November 11, 1979<strong>

"Found them," Daffyd said breathlessly.

Arthur looked at where his brother was pointing, into the guests' stands. Amid the crowd of wizards and witches, two men stood out. Alisdair and Patrick grinned down at them, giving them thumbs up.

"They actually made it," Arthur said, amazed, and waved back at them.

"Come on, it's about to start," Daffyd reminded him, and they assembled into position with their team.

For the first half hour, both teams chased one another up, down, and around the pitch. No one had scored, the chasers were being worn down, and the Golden Snitch had yet to be spotted. However, as one of Slytherin's chasers swerved to avoid an oncoming Bludger, Arthur was able to nick the Quaffle from her.

Arthur dodged a chaser and spotted Francis accelerating towards him. A Bludger grazed Arthur's shoulder, but he was only five meters from the goal hoops. He pulled upwards on his broom handle and ascended over the keeper's head. He thrust the Quaffle through the open goal as pain suddenly flooded his mind and everything faded into blackness.

The first thing Arthur saw when he opened his eyes, was a two-headed figure standing over him. As his sight focused, he realized it was his brother Alisdair.

"How do you feel? You were out for a while." Alisdair squeezed Arthur's shoulder comfortingly.

"My head hurts," Arthur complained. "Actually, make that my entire body."

"Oh here," Alisdair held out a goblet of red medicine. "Madame Pomfrey said you needed to drink this."

Arthur held his breath as he drank the bitter liquid, feeling like a small child again with his brothers watching.

"Taste good?" Daffyd asked, grinning.

"Gourmet," Arthur replied, handing the cup back. "So I was out?"

His brothers exchanged looks of worry. Daffyd was the first to speak.

"Yeah, you were out for two hours. You got hit in the head by a Quaffle and lost control of your broom and, uh, fell."

Patrick stepped forward, shaking his head. "That's only a few of the details. So first, you threw the Quaffle into the goal. When you did that, you were hit by the Quaffle, and fell off of your broom. You landed onto the goal below you and then the ground."

Everyone fell silent as Arthur just stared confused at Patrick. His mind still felt foggy from waking up, but it felt especially heavy as he tried to sort his thoughts. But try as he might, the thoughts he wanted wouldn't resurface.

"I don't remember that," Arthur said quietly.

"We thought that would happen. Your concussion was pretty bad," Alisdair replied, placing a hand over Arthur's. "Can you tell us what you last remember?"

Arthur nodded. "Yeah, you were waving at me from the stands."

"Francis Bonnefoy! Frog!"

Daffyd marched down the corridor, shouting. Gawain trailed behind him, shaking his head disapprovingly.

"We've been searching for a while now, Daff. Why don't we call it quits and study for our upcoming exams?" Gawain had been trying to reason him out of revenge, but the other was stubborn.

"He hurt Arthur," Daffyd said simply. "It was his fault Arthur forgot about the game. What if he's not allowed to play anymore?"

"That won't happen."

"How do you know?"

Gawain glared at Daffyd. "Because Arthur's okay and will be able to leave the Hospital Wing after this week and continue his life like nothing ever happened, via Pomfrey. _That_ is how I know."

However, Daffyd's attention was no longer on Gawain. Eyes sparking maliciously, he hissed under his breath, "_There he is_."

* * *

><p><strong>November 12, 1979<strong>

"Rise and shine," Madame Pomfrey sang the next morning, pulling the curtains open above Arthur's head.

"Morning," He answered sleepily, holding back a yawn. His body felt stiff but he didn't bother to move. It was warm under the blanket and his mind was much clearer than yesterday. "What time is it?"

"Nine o'clock," Pomfrey said, propping up his pillow. "I have your breakfast right here." The nurse walked to the end of his bed, where a tray sat upon the table. She placed the tray of food in Arthur's lap.

"Thank you," Arthur said gratefully.

Not long after he started his breakfast Gawain paid him a visit.

"Are you feeling better?" Gawain asked. He had set down Arthur's satchel at the foot of his bed. It was filled with yesterday's and that morning's homework, no doubt.

"A hundred times better," Arthur answered. "Say, where are my brothers?"

"Oh, well last time I saw, they were scolding Daffyd." Gawain shook his head. "He got himself and the Frog a month's detention."

Arthur choked. "_What_?"

"You see, Francis was the one who hit the Bludger at you, actually. Daffyd went ballistic." Gawain inspected Arthur's apple. "He was literally hunting him down after you woke up, and started a fight. Of course, Francis fought back.

"Daffyd and him managed to duel for a good ten minutes –give or take- before one of the Prefects found them. They were actually here, but you were asleep by then."

"But are they okay?" Arthur asked nervously. As much as he loved them both, the two absolutely hated each other.

Gawain nodded. "Both got black eyes, bruises, but nothing serious."

Arthur sighed, but managed to smile. "I guess they deserved it."

Gawain chuckled as the bell for class rang. "Got to go, mate. See you later."

Arthur bid his friend goodbye and lied back down. The chatter of the students eventually faded into the background of medicine bottles clinking and his gaze rested on the window across the room. Outside, brown and orange leaves cluttered the window sills and cast an orange glow across the stone floor. As Arthur focused harder, he found it harder to stay awake. He shifted into a more comfortable position, hope things would better when he woke up, and closed his eyes.

* * *

><p>End of Chapter Six<p>

Thoughts/advice on the story? Should I just make this story a prequel to the main one?

Anyway, thank you for reading this! If you enjoyed it, then it was certainly worth my time. :)


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